


all stories come to an end.

by Laonhana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 10:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12167376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laonhana/pseuds/Laonhana
Summary: You think heroes survive? Think again.Of course they breathe. They bleed. They fight. Their screams and silent furies tear through the serenity of the thick, dark night. They light our fears and insecurities, set them ablaze in the shadows, so that the dancing villains and the shrill terrors retreat back into our nightmares.But do they live?





	all stories come to an end.

You think heroes survive? Think again.  
Of course they breathe. They bleed. They fight. Their screams and silent furies tear through the serenity of the thick, dark night. They light our fears and insecurities, set them ablaze in the shadows, so that the dancing villains and the shrill terrors retreat back into our nightmares.

But do they live?

We call those brave men and women with stars in their eyes and fire in their hearts, our heroes. We call the hidden whisper of a gunshot, the ringing silence of a disconnected bomb, the shield between our hopes and the madmen, our heroes. Do we revere them? Do we damn them? Do we fear them, or do we love them?

When the man clad in nothing but bravery and righteous fury dropped to his knees with the world on his shoulders, did we cry for him? Or did we cry for his fallen shield, that legacy we painted with harsh reds and blues and whites? The man, who lost everything to Father Time. The man with a name that was seldom uttered, for his name was something the world called him when he was small and frail and furious. This man had had nothing left to live for, save the world. The good, honest captain with a hundred medals in his honor, and yet even more blood in his mind. Or perhaps, the blazing, justice-seeking boy, with a dead-loyal friend to his side, and yet with nothing to his name.

Did he live?

And then came the man of iron. The man with nothing but sheer knowledge and riches, the man who didn't know what he was capable of. Not until he found his own creations staring back at him. Not until he rose from the ashes of his fires and became the hero his city needed. This man was one we all thought we knew, the one we'd thought to be nothing more than another billionaire with too much money and too little sense. Yet he defied the expectations of everyone, and with his resentment of those expectations, became someone they all came to regard as a hero. And when he met the Righteous Man, the man of iron found that heroes aren't supposed to get along, not always. Heroes, they fought, they wept, and they made mistakes. That was what made them heroes.

Did he live?

While the man of iron found himself in rubble and built his tower from light and not blood, the little spider waited in her web. The woman with hair like fire and a heart of steel. She had a head full of memories she'd never wanted, and she had blood between her fingernails that she could never wash away. This was a woman with nothing to lose, not until she found that her kindness had a place in the world. This woman peeled away every single one of her pretty, sticky masks to stop the seven-headed snake from rising again. The widow placed herself out in the middle of the field, with no cobweb to shield her, and no slender silk rope to dance away on. She held guns in her hands and knives in her throat, and she leaped out to face the dangers, with her team at her back and her determination on her shoulders. Did we weep for her when she found herself as a girl, lost in her memories?

Did she live?

The archer who found this little widow. Well. He was certainly an enigma, wasn't he? A circus trickster with a clever shot, with years of loneliness behind his back. The man with a quiver and bow but not much more, the man who had a heart that bled for lost children. The father, the brother, and never the son. This man had freed the little widow from the tangled webs, and this man was the man who taught her to spin for the world. The archer whom the world ignored in favor of his shinier, flashier friends. And yet, the man with his bow fought hard and long, and when his bones ached and his children cried, the archer wished to fall into his bed, with his family at the door and his friends at his back. Instead, the archer fought for the righteous man, and for the young girl he'd took under his wing.

Did he live?

Then the green-skinned man and the scientist came, with their dreams of a better people and with such sharp wit. The beast and man alike were betrayed, shunned, and when the beast struck out, the man felt the pain of its- his- victims. The man was afraid of his green beast, and he hid him away inside his gentle, kind heart. Yet the beast started to save people when the man was in control, and suddenly, the man found friends within his little rag-tag team. The man could study to his heart's desire, and while he would never stop being cautious of his beast, he became someone little kids wanted to hug and chat with. The man, who hid away his beast, and even while fearing capture, who could not stop helping people.

Did he live?

What about the god of thunder? The long-living alien with nothing but good in his intentions, with a broken family and a broken brother, and a broken past. The god- man?- who made so many mistakes that it cost him his own brother, and whose ignorance caused his first downfall. This is a man with a hammer in his hands, destined to build and break and build again, because that's who he is. The fury of a lightning bolt, the crack of ozone before a storm, the mighty rumble of thunder across the heavy sky. The gentleness of a passing rain, the hum of the wind after a bout of bolts, the downpour on a warm summer night. He is the one who rolls all of this into one, the visitor from another realm with a duty on his shoulders.

Did he live?

The twins, of course, were something entirely different on their own. Speed and power, blue and red. Twin weights on the ends of the scale.  
They'd lost their family, their home, their childhood, to a war that was not theirs. They'd sacrificed years just to avenge the wrongdoings they'd been dealt. To become something beyond normality.  
And oh, did they change. The young girl with fire in her eyes became a warrior, a witch with glowing hands and snarling teeth. The young boy became the blue-wisp-ghost with lightning-quick feet and a feral grin. They sought what they thought was revenge, only to find out the truth and rebel at the last moment. The boy, in the end, gave his life for a child and a man- the archer who told them to /rise/.

Did they?

Did the man with a loyal heart and lofty wings? Did the boy with a heart of gold and a suit made from shambled red and blue? Did the ex-convict who gave his life and happiness up just to destroy the tyranny of his company? Did any of them? How about the entanglement of man and machine, the stone-bearer born from a villain's hopes and a hero's determination? The soldier who lost everything to the ice and the serpent, and yet who wanted nothing more than to remember and repent? The guardians out in space, with their quirks and differences? The sorcerer with trembling fingers?

Will we ever know?  
Probably not.

Well. There's one thing you should know, if you live amongst heroes and villains alike- if you never know which ones you should mourn and which ones you should fight against and which ones you should fight with.

Heroes are a powerful sort; not because they are brave or smart or loyal, or whatever. They are powerful because they have a raging desire in their hearts to simply do the right thing, even if they have vastly different motivations and vastly different lives. Their stories are inspiring because they are the last stand between the innocent and the cruel, the first and final shield of humanity.  
And yet.  
Never forget that while the heroes have shiny, flashy names and movie-like strength, they are still people at the end of the day. They are no more infallible than you and I, and they have such raging fires in their chests and ice-cold memories that they have fears and nightmares and irrational hopes. They are living people with minds as dynamic as they come, people with mistakes and flaws. They are more than their pseudonyms, more than their symbols.  
You would do good to remember them.

They live, but not as heroes. They live as good and bad, with both anger and joy in their veins. They live people lives, and they survive being a hero because of that.


End file.
